


I Can't Linger

by Phylwannabe



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:34:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24135160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phylwannabe/pseuds/Phylwannabe
Summary: Day 1: linger
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 9
Kudos: 62
Collections: Jon x Sansa Drabble





	I Can't Linger

I Can’t Linger

_Stay_ , the Commander of his Guard implored him. _It isn’t safe for the King to travel without a guard, despite being only a few leagues from home._

Jon shakes his head, handing the Commander a scroll even as the raven that had delivered it still circles in the air above them. His horse is faster than any other and he can’t just linger, enjoying a leisurely ride home, not after the news he has just received.

_Stay,_ Cook commands as she forcefully pushes him into a bench in the Great Hall. _You look tired and famished, Your Grace._ She keeps her large hand on his shoulder as the kitchen help places a trencher of bread and cheese, a bowl of stew, and a large mug of ale before him. _Besides, the Maester is there right now and you can’t go in until he has finished his examination._ Despite his worries, Jon’s mouth waters and he lingers just long enough to wolf down the food.

_Stay,_ his Hand urges him as he strides through the Council room. _There is nothing you can do but get in the way. Believe me, after four such experiences, I know of what I speak._ He allows the man to pull out the cyvasse board - _it will take your mind off what is happening,_ but he lingers only long enough to lose his last dragon, then Jon is up and running through the hallways, leaving Davos shaking his head in amusement.

_Stay,_ the Queen’s sworn shield tells him as he attempts to push past her formidable height. Short of drawing swords right before the chamber door, which would be unseemly, Jon instead paces back and forth along the long corridor until he feels as if he must be creating a rut in the castle floor. He turns in anxious expectation every time the doors open, only to see them close abruptly as servants hurry in and out. _Seven hells, he has no choice but to linger outside his wife’s rooms like an unwanted guest in his own keep!_

As he paces again and reaches the far end of the corridor, turning sharply on his heel to make the return trek, Jon hears a faint noise from inside the chamber, so weak it reminds him of a just-born wolf pup long ago abandoned by his poor, dead mother. He rushes back, his eyes beseeching his wife’s guard even as she firmly shakes her head.... _You MUST stay._ The next sound is louder, stronger, sharper, and it startles Brienne who turns just enough that Jon is able to rush past her. He enters the chamber and stands, struck dumb, as the hustle and bustle of a lady’s chamber flows around him, all while his eyes are glued to the large bed in the center of the room.

After long moments, the servants leave the room, carrying pans, a tub, bloody sheets, and gods know what else. Finally the Maester also departs, nodding and whispering, _Your Grace,_ as he passes. The King stands, feet frozen in the rushes that litter the stone floor, until the Queen opens tired eyes and with a smile, beckons him forward, _Love, come meet the new Prince_.

Jon carefully sits on the bed beside Sansa and gazes down at the impossibly small bundle in her arms.

He kisses his wife, lips lingering even as his hand tenderly brushes sweaty wisps of auburn locks back from her forehead. She offers the babe to him, but Jon draws back, suddenly terrified that hands which have just wielded Valyrian steel would be far too harsh, too rough, to hold his firstborn. Sansa takes his hands and guides him to place one under the infant’s head and the other under the tiny body. Tears flowing freely down his cheeks, Jon cradles his son in his arm and gently traces a soft cheek with one finger.

The little family sits in peaceful silence for long minutes. As Jon sees his wife’s head weave and bob on her pillow, he places the sleeping baby next to her and moves to leave. The Queen opens her drowsy eyes as he whispers, _I can’t linger - you and our son need your sleep._ Sansa shakes her head, a pout on her lovely face as she pats the empty side of the bed in invitation. _Stay with us, Jon_. And so the King lingers on throughout the night and well into the next day.


End file.
